


The Making of You and Me

by TeaHouseMoon (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha Mycroft, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Bonding, But no mpreg in this story, Caring John, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Smut, I bent the Omegaverse rules a little, I made up my own details, Johnlock - Freeform, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Needy Sherlock, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Overprotective Mycroft, Porn, Pregnancy Kink, Protective John, Smut, i guess?, with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5861665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I won't give you my brother,” Mycroft snarled. </p><p>“You don't have to give him to me.” John’s eyes cut and burned, muscle in his jaw tensing. “I've chosen him. And he's chosen me.”</p><p>Mycroft laughed, full of scornful glee. </p><p>“Doctor Watson, my brother has many gifts and talents.” His jaw set, and he snarled again.  “All you see is his looks. Clearly, he’s too precious for the likes of people like you.” His eyes blazed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Making of You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Omegaverse story! The Muse just wanted me to try, what can I say. And of course, I just made it into a ton of smut... :)
> 
> Please note that I played fast and loose with the rules of Omegaverse, changed some details and added some of my own that I liked better. So please if you think something is 'incorrect' - I just wanted it to be that way. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> ps Thanks once again to my wonderful, patient and super funny Beta, Burning_Up_A_Sun xx

 

 

 

John Watson had always wanted a mate. He hadn't found one so far in his thirty-five years of age - but it wasn't for lack of trying.

The Omegas he'd met hadn't been what he was looking for. They'd been either too clingy or too careless; too talkative or too quiet; too wild or too subdued. Betas, he hadn't considered as partners, because he did want children at some point.

Perhaps his standards were too high. Truthfully, he'd just not shared a real connection with anybody, yet.

 

***

 

His foot crackled on the pavement, the asphalt rough under the heel of his shoe as he centred himself more firmly, a clear signal that he wasn’t backing down. Mycroft’s stance was equally rigid, the tip of his umbrella piercing into the ground, and it looked almost painful.

“I won't give you my brother,” Mycroft snarled.

“You don't have to give him to me.” John’s eyes cut and burned, muscle in his jaw tensing. “I've chosen him. And he's chosen me.”

Mycroft laughed, full of scornful glee.

“Doctor Watson, my brother has many gifts and talents.” His jaw set, and he snarled again. “All you see is his looks. Clearly, he’s too precious for the likes of people like you.” His eyes blazed.

John took a half step forward, as if he meant to attack, or threaten, though if Mycroft felt intimidated, he gave no sign of it. John smiled with the side of his mouth; whatever made Mycroft even think he could challenge him in such a confrontation. John could take him down in a second, as shorter than him as he was, because he certainly hadn't been to war and built up his muscles for nothing.

“Try and stop me,” he growled, looking Mycroft right in the eye. Then he turned, stalked away and out of the building – and he knew he would be allowed to leave undisturbed.

 

***

 

“You smell so amazing,” John breathed to the underside of Sherlock’s jaw, the vulnerable skin that led down to the throat.

“Pheromones,” Sherlock said, as if John needed an explanation. He lifted his chin, let himself be scented.

“Clothes off, soon?” John didn't care about articulating his sentences properly. “In bed, all day. Need to.” A growl; a gentle bite to the clavicle. “Need to.”

Sherlock knew it was the truth. John needed to feel him, touch him, put his smell on him – and Sherlock’s whole body shivered and melted, an instinct deep in his core that wanted him to do anything, anything for John Watson.

“Yes.” He nodded against John’s mouth, eyes closed. He felt a jolt from his abdomen, his skin perking, so sensitive. “Heat's coming soon," he breathed again on John’s lips. Saying it almost made his head spin; John’s hormones had tied to his own so tightly, so perfectly, and his system was reacting with the force of a tidal wave.

And they weren't even bonded yet.

“Ah,” John moaned against him, nuzzled with his nose and mouth against his cheek. Stroked a hand through the luscious raven curls. “You'll be beautiful.”

 

*** 

 

Suppressants held a lot of risks and adverse effects – even delayed and in some cases permanently inhibited child bearing ability after use - so they'd decided not to use them. Sherlock hadn't wanted children so far, but he knew John did - though he also knew the Alpha would never insist.

Sherlock had just agreed the suppressants weren't worth the risk.

In bed, naked, they'd been playful; John gently, teasingly begging, “Want to come inside you. Let me?” He'd bitten Sherlock’s lower lip, held his hands on the pillow at either side of the curly head. “Won't make you pregnant. Only – only in heat.”

Sherlock knew it was true, but laughed in John’s mouth anyway, bit him back and squirmed. Later on, laying on his side with John curled behind him, his hips thrusting, Sherlock listened as John grunted gently and chanted, “My scent, in you, inside. Everywhere.”

The feel of John inside him was maddening – a firm, heavy presence that his body welcomed and craved. He let John's hand stroke up his throat, up his chin and turn his head slightly, let him nuzzle into his nape. Felt the abandon and wanted it to happen, so much that his voice almost cracked, his belly pulsed. “Please…”

John only held him still and thrust hard with his hips, stroked his lips against the hot patch of skin on the nape. When he came, he stayed inside until the end and Sherlock felt it, felt the warmth and the wet, kept his eyes closed and concentrated on John's strong hand on his own cock bringing him to orgasm, too.

 

 *** 

 

Sherlock wanted to ask for John’s bite. Now that he'd felt it – now that he'd imagined it – now that John was there and with him, his world had turned upside down, and everything he used to believe had upturned with it. Belonging to John, John belonging to him, suddenly felt like the most natural next step, and the most important thing he needed right now to survive.

“Of course I want to bond with you,” John murmured to him as they watched each other from their pillows. When he smiled, his eyes shone radiant even in the darkness of the bedroom.

“But..?” Sherlock wanted to let a sulk take over him – when that happened, John always petted him and indulged him and gave in to what he asked for. _Almost_ always.

“But – how can you? Someone like you. So beautiful, and so bright. Why would you want to be tied to me, forever?"

Sherlock's eyes went wide first, then angry. “Don't be ridiculous!”

His cheeks had gone red with indignation; John stretched out on the mattress to cradle a tense hand into his own. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he whispered. “I just want you to be completely sure, my love.”

Sherlock stared, propped on one bent elbow to hold himself up, taller than John as if he needed the practical upper hand he felt he was missing in that baffling conversation.

“Of course I'm sure!” He nearly growled. “I swear to God if you think it's my hormones talking…”

He pulled himself up to sitting, knocked John's hand away from his; bit his lip and lifted his chin up in disdain. And so it was just one moment, one lighting-quick movement of limbs and strong chest, and then Sherlock was on his back again, his wrists held down to the mattress, John over him and baring his teeth in admonition.

“I am your Alpha,” John growled softly. Sherlock stared, suddenly quiet, eyes blue and wide. “Of course I want to bite you. I want you to belong to me and I want us to be bonded.” His bare teeth vanished back behind his lips; his features relaxed. “But I want you to want it, too. With everything that it implies – beyond your heat, beyond our bodies, beyond what is expected of an Alpha and an Omega.”

Sherlock wanted to close his eyes, but he kept them open and on John’s. He let himself become pliant, let the tension vanish away from his biceps and flanks; let his lips open a little, breathed through them as if in awe.

John Watson was everything he’d ever wanted.

“I do, John.” He promised, in a whisper.

 

*** 

 

It would have been just way too easy if Mycroft had just left them alone.

John’s fury must have been etched very clearly on the contracted creases of his face, or rolling off him in his scent like a warning. He clenched and unclenched his fists, stood in the middle of Mycroft’s posh office, rigid and unmoving much like the first time they met. This was the second time Mycroft had tricked him into a black car and taken him away from Baker Street.

“Don’t test my patience, Doctor Watson.”

“You’ve tested mine enough. Isn’t it only fair I return the favour?”

Mycroft was evidently not far from baring his teeth.

“You intend to bond with my brother without my permission,” he announced without emotion. John just barely stopped himself from swinging a punch.

“We don’t need your permission.”

“Yes, you do. You need my permission as Sherlock’s Guardian Alpha, to look after him and bond with him and raise a family with him – and you’re obviously unsuitable for the job.”

John snorted. “I wonder what makes you so sure of that.”

Mycroft’s facial expression was inscrutable, and John took a step forward, rage boiling inside his veins and threatening to overflow. He was sure Mycroft had bodyguards, stashed in some hidden closet, just waiting for him to attempt a strike.

“What makes me sure?” A bitter chuckle. “Where exactly was my brother yesterday, Doctor Watson? Why was he allowed to leave the flat, wander around on his own, do as he pleased? A lone, unbonded Omega?”

“Sherlock can do whatever he likes.” John made sure to speak really slowly. Articulate every word pedantically clearly. “Sherlock can go wherever he wants. It doesn’t mean he’s not safe – it doesn’t mean I don’t give him what he needs.”

“I believe I’ve heard everything.” Mycroft raised a hand, full of contempt.

John wasn’t entirely sure what Mycroft thought he’d accomplish; keep him away from Baker Street? He felt like laughing at the man’s delusion. _He’d have to chain him up and lock him away somewhere._

And then, when the door to the office opened, it wasn’t anybody either of them had expected.

“John!” Sherlock called. His hair was dishevelled, his face twisted into a deep frown. He was breathing hard. “Mycroft, I am going to kill you!”

He stared, hard and menacing, angry like John had never seen him. Those were some of the traits Mycroft despised and criticised in him – the aggression, the assertiveness – and which John loved, instead.

John only had the time to whisper, “Sherlock…” Mycroft stood there, paralysed, scowling; and then Sherlock’s face crumbled, his body visibly giving in to the need to breathe hard, unstructured, almost panicked. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes watery. His façade dropped. He ran to John, gripped at his arms with trembling hands.

“John, John…”

One touch to his fever-hot skin told John everything.

“Your heat has started.”

Sherlock's eyes looked at him, wide and shiny and lost, so different from a moment earlier when he'd done everything he could to keep it together. John figured this was his first heat with a partner – the effects were unexpected.

“John. John. I want – I want. Please…”

John cradled Sherlock against himself, wrapped his arms around the trembling torso, and suddenly the instinct to protect and defend gripped at his throat like a fist that strangled and stopped him from breathing. When he pushed his nose into Sherlock’s hair, he smelled the need, the longing, the fear – and his own eyes flashed dangerously.

“Is this what you want?” He snarled, low in his throat, staring at Mycroft like he could destroy him with one look. “Is this your idea of giving him what he needs?”

Mycroft did not respond, and Sherlock tensing in his arms and holding onto him made John leave it. He nuzzled into Sherlock’s neck, instinct leading his movements and touches, and Sherlock breathed ‘John’ from where he was hiding his face in the crook between John’s neck and shoulder. His scent was overwhelming , and John closed his eyes when his animal brain told him to find the nearest secluded place to fuck Sherlock in as soon as possible.

“I want that, I want that, John.” Sherlock begged from John’s neck. “I need you to fuck me, I need you in me.”

The desire to kiss Sherlock was so intense John felt it was draining him, but he forced himself to hold on until they were both back in the safety of their flat. If he gave in now he would not be able to stop, and there was no way he'd make Sherlock so vulnerable in a strange room, where strange men could be in hiding.

“A guard will be in in exactly one minute.” Mycroft’s voice sounded as if it came from another room – from the outside of a glass wall. John raised his face from Sherlock’s distress-soaked curls and glared at him. “John. He will take you and my brother back to Baker Street.” Mycroft held his hands at waist level, palms open towards John and the implication was clear – _I want to help. Please trust._

“I want you to listen to me. Sherlock? I want you to listen to your Alpha.” John murmured in Sherlock’s hair and he felt him shudder, and it reverberated in his own chest. “You will be strong and you will let me take you away from here. We’re going back home, and then I'll bite you, and we will bond.”

Sherlock raised dark, wide eyes on him – they were incensed, but suddenly focused. “And you'll be inside me.”

“And I'll be inside you, for as long as you want me to. You will smell of me and only of me, inside and out.”

Even as he said it, he felt his resolve melt; his lips drawn inexorably to Sherlock’s and wanting to drink his cries and his scent. Sherlock looked at him with a frown between his eyebrows and biting hard into his lower lip, and John blinked, realised their driver was there. Held tighter onto Sherlock as they walked away, and didn't turn back.

 

*** 

 

“John,” Sherlock moaned once more, ribcage expanding in exhausted breaths. He opened his legs wider, wrapped them around John’s sides, arched his back deeply as John sunk his teeth into his nipple. John moved up and attacked his mouth, bit and licked and thrust in his tongue.

“You're mine,” he growled. Surprised himself at how feral he sounded, at the fact he couldn't stop. “You're mine, your body is mine. You belong to me.” Nestled in between Sherlock’s burning hips, John’s cock twitched; John moved back, and the tip stroked against Sherlock’s entrance, too large to just slide in.

“Put it in me.” Sherlock's voice was rough and low. He spoke against John's mouth. “Fuck me.”

John propped a muscled arm onto the mattress, gave one last bite to the nipple; reached with his other hand to hold his cock in place against the slicked hole.

“Put it in me, John, I want it.” Another stroke, another moan. “Please. Put a child in me. I want your child. I want your child in my belly.”

The growl that tore through John’s throat came from deep within his chest. John hung his head in between his shoulders, forward and down over Sherlock’s breast; held his cock and thrust in, until he was all inside, the constricting walls of Sherlock’s body holding and squeezing and contracting madly. He held there for a while, looking straight into Sherlock’s lost, wide eyes, listening to him trying to breathe enough air in. He gave another jerk with his hips, felt the head of his cock touch even deeper.

“I want it John. I want your child. Give it to me, make me pregnant, I want it, please. Please.”

John pulled out; thrust back in, hard, and it jolted Sherlock's body back onto the mattress. Sherlock's words were lulling him, sweet in his ears like the warmest of praises, and he wanted so bad to listen and do as he said and make him happy – but he, of everyone, as a doctor, knew that Sherlock wasn't being rational. It wasn't him, the real him underneath the haze, the Sherlock that hadn't wanted children so far in his life and hadn't consented to having them when clear-minded, outside of his heat – so John just couldn't.

“No, John, no.” Even in heat Sherlock was still able to practically read his mind. “Please, please, I want it. I'm so empty inside, please. I want your child. I want all the children you want to give me.”

John closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, hard – gave another deep thrust that made him feel like he was touching Sherlock’s very core. He wanted to give in, he so badly wanted to, oh, God; Sherlock nuzzled into his throat, under his chin, moaned – and John growled. Just another push now, just another one and then he'd pull out, and if that was all it took for it happen, for Sherlock to fall pregnant, then, so be it…

Removing himself from Sherlock’s body, even briefly, was more agonising than he'd thought. Sherlock whined and growled, and John grasped at his head, fingers into the sweaty curls to hold him still.

“Sherlock, love, hey. Listen to me.” He shook him gently, and Sherlock’s eyes opened. “Not this time. I'm not going to do it this time. We’re going to use a condom, I'm going to give you my knot – but no pups.” When Sherlock frowned, he shook him gently again. “Hey. We need to bond first. Okay? And then we’ll talk about it.”

He refused to treat Sherlock like he'd completely lost his mind. Even irrational, even unfocused, it was still him – just, the animal part of his brain had taken over for the moment. And this was his first heat with a partner, his first time, and that was always much harder.

The condom felt too cold and too unnatural after he’d been so close to Sherlock’s bare skin. John gritted his teeth, looked over to where Sherlock had curled himself up small on the mattress, his back to him; closed his eyes, bit his lip again – the smell and the heavy air and the sounds were getting to his head again, and that was good. That was good.

He lay back down behind Sherlock and nudged him against himself, thighs and hips aligned, and his back to his chest. He made sure Sherlock was secure in his embrace – an arm under him, under his neck, fist wrapped around Sherlock’s fist, John's other arm down to hold his hips still – and pushed in again, slowly, and then less so as he picked up the pace.

“You're so beautiful,” John had always thought he'd be moaning compliments in his partner’s ear just before finally bonding with them; in Sherlock’s case, he certainly didn't have to lie.

He scented Sherlock’s hair, nudged with his nose until the Omega bent his neck forward a little. John let the smell in, closed his eyes, felt it get to his head, hips thrusting hard and he lost it – bite, bite, _bite, now, do it;_ opened his mouth, held his teeth just lightly over the pale, delicate skin of Sherlock’s nape - and then bit down.

Sherlock’s hips convulsed, moved in violent jerks as if trying to get away, and he cried out, loudly. John pushed his palm against Sherlock’s belly to hold him in place, squeezed his fist with his other hand – kept the pressure and let his teeth sink properly into the skin. He was still thrusting in and out and soon felt the start of his knot, so he pushed in firmly and held there.

“John…” Sherlock's plea was pained, and now feeble. The knot was swelling quickly inside him, and John’s chest filled with pride as Sherlock held still and let it happen, even though it was clearly strange and perhaps uncomfortable.

Reluctantly – though he knew he was done - he released Sherlock’s neck, nuzzled very gently at the patch of reddened skin there. His teeth marks would be clearly visible come morning.

“You did so well,” John murmured against the side of Sherlock’s throat. “Ah – you were so good. And now you have my bite, and my knot – do you feel it?” His hand went to Sherlock’s abdomen, pushed down firmly. “Right there.” He tried to give another quick push with his hips, but Sherlock’s body had already locked like a vice around his knot, and he could just answer Sherlock’s moan with a cry of his own. Sherlock’s cock was hard when he touched it and it released shortly after, against Sherlock’s belly; the Omega moaning with the little breath he had left.

 

***

 

The next morning he was woken early by Sherlock, who knelt up on the mattress, a thigh on each side of John’s hips, erection rigid against his belly.

“I want to start taking birth control. For my next heat.”

John looked up at him, eyes still groggy but feeling suddenly awake. The second day – and the day after the bite - an omega would still be demanding and needy, progressively so, but they’d be generally more lucid.

“I hate condoms. I really do,” Sherlock continued, reaching down to stroke John’s cock with both hands, urgently. “I hate not being able to feel _you._ ”

John smiled; closed his eyes against the sensation of Sherlock’s slick hands around himself. Of course, Sherlock’s sentiment was one he completely shared.

“Make me come. And then I'll fuck you - I'll still be hard for a while after that.”

Sherlock smirked, but his eyes had already started to go hazy. His hands moved quickly on John. “Risky…” He murmured - his intonation anything but discouraging. John's hands gripped his sides and pulled him forward, chest over chest, face just over his own.

“You wanted my child in your belly yesterday. If it happens, then it happens.” He closed his eyes; he didn't know what he was saying, it was pure instinct talking - but he was too weak to fight it. He wanted so much. And by the way Sherlock’s body shuddered in response, he knew he wanted too, just as much.

Thrusting into Sherlock’s hands, it didn't take him long to come. John cleaned himself with a tissue as well as he could, then supported Sherlock’s hips as the younger man lowered himself down, his natural slick easing the way. John thought he would die at the feeling of skin on skin, at the warm and the wet and the _tight_. His knot was large and firm still, and when Sherlock hesitated, John sank strong fingers into the sides of his pelvis and pushed up, past the resistance, slowly until his swollen gland was fully inside and Sherlock was properly seated on him.

“Ah, John,” Sherlock groaned, holding himself up just barely on hands planted each side of John’s chest. John held him by the arms, shut his eyes tight and gritted his teeth.

“Fuck, Sherlock. You're going to make me come again. Damn you,” John bit out, playfully enough, though he knew there was pain in his voice. “Come on. Fuck yourself on my cock. Be my good Omega.”

Face flushed, lips swollen with arousal, eyes watery, Sherlock looked at him; smiled, bashfully, at the reminder that he was now _John’s Omega_ _, he was John’s Omega._ H _e_ braced himself on John's chest and set upon doing what he was asked – lifting up and pressing down until he touched John's body and until the knot was fully back inside, and god it stung so beautifully, John stretched him so well, and he never wanted it to end.

“It feels so good,” he chanted as if hypnotised, as if under a spell – and John figured he was, in a way; they both were. Sherlock’s hips moved sinuously, and John reached his hands out to thumb the stiff tips of his nipples.

“Come on, gorgeous, come on, fuck yourself on me, come on, harder, deeper,” he urged, at some point begged, then lost every contact with reality as he encouraged Sherlock to take his own pleasure - and then crumbled when he did, when Sherlock stiffened and cried out and his body clamped down on John’s, and held on to him, and John wished they could be together like this forever.

 

 

***

 

 

 

“You know I’m only writing this because you asked me to.”

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, his silk blue dressing gown on over soft, light grey pijamas. On his lap he had a sheet of paper on top of a plastic file holder, and he was scrawling something on it in swirly hand writing.  
His hair was tangled and needed washing; John smiled and walked over, sat next to him – stroked the curls way from the nape to reveal the pink scar underneath. He kissed it, rubbed his mouth over it and gave another small, gentle bite. Sherlock moaned softly, and John growled, but let him go.

“Sorry.”

Piercing blue eyes fixed on him.

“Why would you apologise?”

Sherlock’s stare was so intense, and his voice had such a seductive tone, that if his five days of heat hadn’t just come and gone John would have thought him still in the throes of it. Sherlock leant towards him, and nudged at the side of his cheek, his red lips just out of John’s reach. “I am yours now; I belong to you. I’m your Omega.” He kissed the corner of John’s mouth. “You should never apologise for wanting to touch me.” His hand reached out – folder lying forgotten on the bed next to them – and gave John a firm, slow stroke through his trousers.

John closed his eyes and groaned.

“Christ, Sherlock. The things you do to me,” he growled under his breath. “It’s only been a few hours! At this rate I will never be out of you for long enough to do anything else.” Sherlock kissed him, and John kissed back – gave him a hard bite to the plump lower lip. Wanted to push him down on the bed and order him to open his legs, _right now_ _and quickly_.

“I can’t help it.” Sherlock didn’t sound regretful. “It’s your scent so near me, and now that we’re bonded - when you’re around it just” – a kiss – “makes me go” – a breath down John’s throat – “…crazy.”

Eyes closed, John inhaled, then exhaled against him. Kissed him, and as he did so he pushed him back down onto the bed, but held himself up on one arm.  
“Speaking of which – can I see this letter you’re writing? Somehow I feel like you don’t intend to be too courteous.”

“John!” Sherlock whined petulantly; John smiled, but a moment later pushed a hand between Sherlock’s open legs, stroked hard at the already-damp cotton of the pyjama pants. Growled, commanding, against Sherlock’s mouth, now half-open in a breathless moan of surprise and want, “When I’m done, I will fuck you,” and Sherlock lay limp and behaved.

 

 

***

 

_Brother mine,_

_John and I are bonded. I am well aware this was not what you had planned, and that you thought it was your right to find a better, wealthier and more affluent Alpha for me – but alas, dear brother, you deluded yourself. It was not, in fact, your choice._

_It was mine, and mine only. And I chose John. John looks after me and cares for me and I care for him. Although you ignore the existence of such feelings, I share them with him, and I do not need anything else, as he gives me everything I need, and I one day will give him children, and we will have a fine life._

_We are to sign the Bonding papers on Monday. Pass this message on to Mother and Father if you feel it is apt – I will not be sending invitations, and they can attend, or not, it makes no difference. Same goes for you._

_I am well, and I am happy, and I will continue to be if you so kindly spare us any future interference from your nosy self._

_PS._ _Perhaps you should use the immense amount of time you now have free to find a mate of your own, provided there is an Omega out there willing to put up with you._

_Regards,_

_Sherlock Holmes_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this story! x


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